


human

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Bertolt doesn't die, Bertolt x reader - Freeform, Bertolt's moral problems, Cross-Posted on Quotev, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Cute, F/M, Fluff, I know, Inspired by a quote, Manga Spoilers, Requested, Unfortunate, on quotev, request, y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I love you. I am at rest with you. I have come home." - Dorothy L. Sawyershe loves you. he is human when he is with you. he's home, finally.
Relationships: Bertolt Hoover/Reader, Bertolt Hoover/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	human

**Author's Note:**

> => Disclaimer: Bertholdt Hoover and Reiner Braun belong to Hajime Isayama.
> 
> => I have not given permission for my work to be redistributed in any way, shape or form.
> 
> \--> Requested by: BunTaichoScarlet on quotev
> 
> \--> prompt given: quote - "I love you. I am at rest with you. I have come home." (by Dorothy L. Sawyers)
> 
> \- aged up characters  
> \- slight manga spoilers  
> \- when leaving for Wall Maria, Bertholdt is 16 instead of 10; when he becomes a cadet, he is 18; when the Battle of Shinganshina happens, he is 21  
> \- the minimum age for becoming a cadet is 17
> 
> \--> cross-posted

_I love you._

He thinks he really does. Love you, he means. It’s what he always ends up thinking whenever he looks at you. Even now, as you smile at him, this is the only thought present at the forefront of his mind. 

Bertholdt has known you since he was seven. He met you eight years ago, when you came up to him one day while he was wandering the streets of the Ghetto, just moving aimlessly to escape from the expectations awaiting him at home. He remembers how he met you, even to this day. Remembers it vividly, color for color, word for word.

He thinks he must have looked hungry, because you had come up to him with the sole purpose of offering your bread to him. You were only seven too, but there’d been an age old kindness in your eyes. It’s present now too; warm, unwavering, heartfelt kindness. (He believes that’s what drew him in. Your kindness. It’s like a magnet.)

“Would you like some bread?” You’d asked, a sort of shy friendliness present in your tone, holding out a loaf of fresh, warm bread. The smell had wafted up to his nose, delicious and coaxing, and he’d felt impossibly hungry all of a sudden. But you were a stranger, and he’d been wary of the offer, immediately searching for the familiar red armband that he wears and sees every day. Bertholdt had realized, with a feeling of vague horror, that it wasn’t there.

Instead, a pure white armband had been wrapped around your left shoulder, (h/c) strands of hair grazing it. The horror must have registered in his expression, because your face had fallen, and you had stepped back from him resignedly. Something had compelled him, though, at the disappointed look on your face. Why would you be disappointed at the fact that he, an Eldian, hadn’t taken your bread?

“Why,” he had choked out, wariness, dread and confusion clogging up his throat. The words barely made their way out. “Why would you offer bread to someone like me?” He couldn’t believe he had just said that. He had been prepared to run at the first sight of trouble (people like you, they had always either teased him or told on him), but something told him he wouldn’t have to.

He had seen bewilderment settle across your expression, but it had quickly given way to comprehension, something sad lining the edges of your face. “You think because I’m a Marleyan, it’s suspicious that I offered you, an Eldian, some bread?” Your words had been quiet and you had enunciated slowly, eyes concentrated only on him. He had fallen silent, a simple _“yes”_ in his eyes.

He’d been stunned when your expression cleared, the sadness dissipating, clouds hiding behind the sun that now broke out as a smile on your face. You’d held the bread out again, he remembers, the bright morning sun had been shining on your features, highlighting your bright smile as you said, “We’re all human, though, aren’t we?”

_We’re all human, though, aren’t we?_ If Bertholdt had to choose a few words, one sentence, that shaped him to be who he was today, that would stick with him for life, he would instantly choose your words. 

The minute you’d said that, he’d known you weren’t like the rest of the Marleyans. He’d accepted the bread hesitantly, uttering a small token of thanks. You’d smiled, and asked him if he wanted to play with you. He remembered asking why you would play with him instead of your other friends. “Because you’re nice, and I want to play with you today.” was the only thing you’d offered, before you’d started running to the small meadow nearby, waving at him to run after you. 

You’d been fast friends ever since, always meeting up to play at the sheltered meadow in the corner of the Ghetto. You always brought him bread whenever you showed up, and in return, he would pick the freshest, juiciest apples; ones that hung at the top of the trees in the meadow. Apples were your favorite, and he was tall, even at a young age; so he always used to get them for you. 

He remembers doing it because of your smile. Each time he had gotten you an apple, you’d beamed radiantly, and he’d basked in the warmth of your smile; proud you were smiling like that, all sunshine and starlight, because of him.

He’s startled out of his musing when you appear in front of him suddenly. The trees are creating dancing shadows in wake of the sunlight, shadows that cover half of your face as you glance down at him questioningly. “You kind of just stared into space for a good, long while. What were you doing?” 

Your words from before resound in his head, _We’re all human, though, aren’t we?_ He was an equal to you; that’s how you thought of him. It’s one of the many reasons he loved being with you. _I love you_ , he thinks, looking at you right now, he really does. 

He doesn’t know what makes him do it (the sun dancing behind your eyes, the warmth you radiate, that unwavering kindness in your smile?) but he’s kissing you suddenly, his hands still on either side of him clutching for purchase on the ground as he feels your lips slanting over his own.

You’re surprised at first, he can tell, your lips are unmoving and rigid. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he can see dark orange shapes in the black of his vision. He thinks of pulling away (did he make a mistake, he wonders, terrified) but then your lips move against his own, soft, your hands on his jaw.

_I love you_ , he thinks as he pulls back, opening his eyes, half-scared, half-eager to see the expression on your face. You’re smiling softly as you kneel in front of him, one hand still on his jaw, the other now on the grass beneath you.

“What was that for?” you ask, (e/c) eyes gentle as you study his figure. He’s incredibly nervous (what does he say? what does he _say_ ), and the only thought on his mind makes his way to his mouth automatically. So without thinking, he blurts it out and then it’s in the air between you two. _I love you._

He closes his eyes then; he doesn’t want to see what kind of expression you’re making. What if this was a mistake? What if the kiss was a fluke? What if – his second-guessing is cut off when he feels the touch of your lips on his forehead.

He opens his eyes, gazing at you in wonder as you smile. This isn’t your usual bright smile, but it’s his favorite one now. This one has your kindness present at its curve, and softness in your eyes. “Me too.” you say, one hand snaking its way between his, the other still on his jaw. And he knows he loves you.

_I am at rest with you._

The glow of the evening sun is mellow as it hangs over the meadow. The meadow is one of Bertholdt’s favorite places. It’s where he always meets you, so he’s come to associate the meadow with you. There’s a light summer breeze blowing, gently caressing his face as he leans back against the large oak tree, head tilted upwards. 

He makes sure not to move too much, careful not to rouse you from your slumber. You’ve always been a light sleeper, so he knows the slightest of movements will set you off. Your head is in his lap, his legs crossed, one hand in between both of yours, the mesh of hands lying on your stomach. Your eyes are closed, (e/c) orbs that he loves hidden. There’s a peaceful, content expression on your face and a fierce protectiveness that usually lies hidden somewhere deep, now surges forward in a rush of emotion.

He wants to make sure you never lose this feeling of peace that you’re feeling right now. Wants to make sure no harm ever comes to you. Maybe this is the real reason he joined the Warrior Cadets. Aside from the pressure of his family and their expectations of him, he’d like to think _this_ is why he joined. To protect you. To keep you safe. Away from harm.

He remembers your face when he first told you of his decision. He was ten when he told you. There’d been that familiar resigned expression on your face; the same one from when he first met you. Like you knew talking to him about it would prove to be futile; like you knew he wouldn’t change his mind. 

Maybe in another lifetime, he would have, just for you. Maybe he would have stayed, if you’d asked him to. But he knows he can’t, his family is depending on him. He has to do this. For them. And if he has to go, then he’ll make sure that you stay safe. Above everything else, this is his priority. So he’ll go for you too.

You’d known he would have to go, and so you hadn’t asked him to stay, only muttering a simple “okay.” The smile he had been so used to seeing hadn’t been present then. Tears had gathered at the corners of your eyes, and he’d panicked, flailing. He had been hovering around you, alarmed, uncertain. The uncertainty must have been present on his face, and you’d laughed at his awkward attempts to comfort you.

He remembers that laugh so clearly. The face you’d made. Laughter bubbling out from your throat, pale pink lips stretching wide in a grin, but tears making their way down your face. He’d laughed nervously with you then, unsure how to react, but seeing the way you had perked up and wiped away your tears when he laughed, he’d made the right decision.

You’d told him then, that you would wait for him. Bertholdt remembers feeling like he was floating on air – so _happy_ that someone would be eagerly waiting for his return. That _you_ would be waiting for him to come back.

And now, the day is coming close. He’s turned 16, and in a few weeks, he’ll be on his way to Paradis Island, and you’ll be left at home, waiting for him.

But did you deserve that, he wonders. Deserve the endless waiting for someone who might not make it back? Deserve waiting for someone who was going to go on a homicide mission? Someone who was going to, inevitably, become a murder. Will he even be human then?

But wait – the Eldians were demons, right? So it’d be okay, right, to exterminate demons? It’d be for the good of humanity, he reassures himself, eyes unfocused as he gazes off into the distance, the dying sun casting sinister shadows on his face. After all, they’re just demons in human skin, right?

_We’re all human, though, aren’t we?_ The words you had said to him so long ago come to mind. Yes. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself, this is the truth. The Eldians are human too. He _knows_ that. But he has no choice.

Is this his fate? To become a murderer? To have you ripped away from his side? It’s with despair that he realizes that you don’t know this. Don’t know that he is about to go against his, and your very own ideals. Don’t know he is about to become a murderer; about to stop being _human._ Should he stop meeting up with you? Spare you from his fate? Because you don’t deserve to be associated with someone like him, you don’t deserve it, you don’t, _you don’t_ –

“You’re doing that thing again.” Your amused voice floats up through the air and he starts before looking down to meet your eyes. Your amused expression transforms into one of confusion and concern as his eyes meet yours. 

“Bert…you’re…crying? What’s wrong?” You ask, worry prominent in your eyes. You sit up then, moving away from his lap to give him some space as your hands grip his tighter. Looking down at you, just seeing the blatant concern and affection you hold for him, the dam of emotions in his chest bursts suddenly. 

He rips his hand from yours and buries his head in both his hands, shoulders hunching over as they begin to shake. And then he _sobs_. And he’s babbling, and he knows he’s not supposed to reveal official cadet secrets, but he can’t help it, and right now, he doesn’t care much for the rules.

And he knows you have no idea what he’s saying, but thankfully, you just sit there and listen. “I-I’m going to have to go, go far away. And I’m going to have to become a – become a _murderer_! But don’t you see?! I don’t want” he sniffs, slowing down, the desperation and wild panic in his tone slowly fading, “I don’t want to be a murderer! I don’t want to kill other people! I don’t want to believe that lie…I don’t want to be someone you would hate… _I don’t want_ …”

He gulps, taking in large breaths of air, face still hidden behind his hands. He can’t bear to see the look on your face, he _can’t_. You’re probably disgusted, shocked or angry, and he doesn’t want to be the cause of that, he doesn’t want to see what you think of him now. So he just sits there, heaving, head in his hands, _praying_ you’ll walk away, leave him there. It would be for the best. (would it really? ~~no, no, no, don’t go, don’t leave him~~ )

It’s silent for a little while, only the sounds of the grass rustling in the breeze filling his ears. It’s calming, to concentrate on just that one sound, and slowly, he starts breathing normally. 

And then your hands are on his, gentle, as you pull his away. He lets you, but his eyes are still downcast, shame weighing down on him. You bring his hands up to your face and keep them there, saying his name softly, “Bert.”

And he gives in, like he always does, like he knew he would. He looks up slowly, hesitantly, eyes darting around before finally meeting yours. There’s none of the anger, shock, or disgust he expected to see. Instead, your (e/c) are soft, and brimming with sadness, and that same resignation from when he told you he was joining the Cadets.

“Bert…I-“ you hesitate, and his heartbeat stutters, trepidation settling in. “Bert, what you have to do is so, so hard. But I know you don’t have a choice. And you’re just trying to keep your family safe, right? To keep _me_ safe?” You ask calmly now, and he nods, hands more firmly holding your face, some of the trepidation leaving him.

“Then, you’re not a murderer, Bert. You’re just trying to keep us safe, to protect us. You have no choice here,” and your eyes fill with something akin to anger, “Marleyans are just that cruel. One day, I hope they fall.” There’s a deep unnamed emotion in your eyes now, one he’s never seen on you before, and he’s not sure what it is; this emotion in your eyes. But just like that, you’ve made him feel human again. And as he looks into your eyes, he knows he loves you, so, so much.

You lean forward then, dropping your forehead onto his shoulder. “Just - just come back safe, please. That’s all I could ask for.” His arms tighten around you, and then he cries, tears of relief and affection, mixed, pouring out. You drop kisses on his shoulder as he does, and then when he calms down, you both sit there in silence, at rest with each other. 

_I have come home._

He’s back in Marley, but it feels different. Reiner had offered to brief the higher-ups for him, looking at him knowingly and chuckling when he looked at the eager expression on Bertholdt’s face, who had flushed pink in response.

Now he steps into the Ghetto almost hesitantly, glancing over at what had been his home at one point. It doesn’t feel like it now. It feels familiar, yes, but it’s not home. Not after what he’s witnessed, what he’s _done._ He shakes the thoughts away, detaching himself from that line of thinking. No. Not right now. Not when he was about to see you again for the first time in five years.

He wonders how you look now. Have you cut your hair? Do you still have that same smile, full of kindness? He hopes you do. That smile was what made him fall in love with you in the first place.

He walks to the meadow quickly, pace increasing the closer he gets, nostalgia and eagerness overtaking him as he sees the familiar streets that lead to the meadow. You’d agreed to meet there when he returned, and he’s practically running to get to you now.

He sees the meadow then, in the corner. And he breaks out into a sprint, long legs carrying him as quickly as they can. He halts when he arrives at the edge of the meadow, pale green eyes earnestly searching for your familiar form among the trees in the meadow.

And then he sees you, pacing back and forth in front of the largest apple tree, wringing your hands. He breaks out into a smile, his heart soaring. You’re there, you’re there, you’re _there_. He runs then, and you turn at the sound of footsteps, face breaking out into that bright smile he loves. He stops when he reaches you (will it be awkward, he thinks), but before he can say anything, you’ve leapt at him, fingers clasping behind his neck, like you know what he’s thinking. You probably do, he thinks wryly.

You’re kissing him then, soft but eager, standing on the very tips of your toes. He smiles against your lips as you mumble, “You’ve grown even taller, Bert.”

Yes, this is his home. Marley isn’t and Paradis isn’t. The Ghetto isn’t. _This_ is. Him with you. You’re home. He relaxes against you, warmth filling his being as you smile softly at him, pulling back. _I’m home again, (Name)._

**Author's Note:**

> -> first time writing for Bertholdt smksjkjskk
> 
> -> not one of my favs, but I hope I did him justice
> 
> [insta](https://www.instagram.com/verumsolatium/)


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